Thursdays
by withered
Summary: "You as my Healer; me as your patient; arrived under the circumstances of my noteworthy occupation with a broken nose, only to be fixed by you, the girl who once despised me, and coincidentally, broke my nose when we were children."/ "Will you be narrating the rest of our encounter, Malfoy?"/ "Oh, is there more?" [Healer Granger/Quidditch player Malfoy] [COMPLETE]
1. Chapter 1

Thursdays

Chapter one

 _._

" _How dare you?_ "

Hermione really did intend to do an about-face and walk out at the sight of him, but she was so irate at the reason for his arrival at St Mungo's, she turned on her heel again and walked right back into the room.

"I swear it isn't _that_ bad."

She made a sound of frustration.

"Really Hermione, I think you're overreacting," Harry said, in an infuriatingly matter-of-fact tone, and the assisting medi-wizard at his side actually snorted. _Good,_ Hermione thought sourly, at least _someone_ knows.

Inhaling a calming breath, the witch quietly reminded, "You're in the hospital in case you didn't realise, Harry, _and_ your bone is definitely not meant to be sticking out of your skin like that. So tell me again, why I shouldn't be overreacting when all you were meant to do today was _buy fucking milk_?"

"Well, you see... about that..."

She held up a hand. "I don't actually want to know, I can already feel a headache brewing right here." She made a circular motion around her eyes, an indication of a migraine in the making. "Just hold still."

Suddenly, he looked alarmed. "Wait-wait-wait!"

"Harry, there's no time. Your adrenaline rush is wearing off, and Merlin knows how painful this is going to be so if you could just _stay bloody still_!"

When Harry made the unwise decision to try and escape anyway, the medi-wizard held him down with a firm hand.

"Don't worry Mr. Potter, this won't hurt a bit," he tried to soothe, and if Harry hadn't pissed her off by landing himself here in the middle of a groundbreaking one-of-a-kind curse breaking on a woman that was experiencing severe aftereffects of an imperio, Hermione might have left it at that.

However, she was still impossibly livid with the Boy-Who-Did-Stupid-Things.

How can someone who was asked to get milk, end up involved in a curse breaking exercise? _And_ end up with a bone sticking out? She huffed.

Looking directly at him, she flatly informed, "This'll hurt like a bitch."

.

Hermione ran along the corridor, robes billowing out like sails behind her as she tried to reach Theatre One in time to see the last of the operation taking place. She mentally kicked herself when the healer charged with the case came towards her, clearly finished with the task.

 _Nooo,_ Hermione practically felt her entire body fall forward in dismay.

Unlike St Augustine's, St Mungo's was not a teaching hospital and the opportunity to see new techniques and interesting cases were few and far between. Her rotation had been relatively quiet and Hermione was looking forward to seeing this particular treatment in action, only for _Harry bloody Potter_ to walk in with a broken collar bone.

Why, oh why, did she tell him about preferred Healer-Client privilege considering his rap sheet of injuries in school?

Merlin knew how he managed to get to the hospital earlier, calm as can be, considering the amount of pain he must've been in. Hermione consoled herself that her best friend was actually physically invincible despite his wiry build. Perhaps she should have let him sit in the waiting room until the OP was over.

 _Ugh, not professional Granger, get a grip! He's your best friend, and your patient, and he gets preference over the opportunity to see, in person, how one would begin to reverse the effects of a dark curse and – No, I'm going to stay positive!_ She reprimanded herself firmly, forcibly willing her deep frown to be replaced by a deep breath and a confident smile. The day might have been filled with figuratively kissing boo-boos, not to mention Harry Potter and his annoying need to play hero, but at least her shift was almost over.

In fact, she could safely change out of her hospital robes right about...

"Healer Granger," Healer Andrews interjected, slowing in her perpetually brisk step to hand over a clipboard. "You have a patient in room 302."

She perked up, and eagerly asked, "Who is it?"

 _A recently returned traveler with some kind of creature poisoning? An overzealous student trying out a spell too advanced for them? Aftereffects of a werewolf transformation? Was there even a full moon? Oh, I hope we have enough wolfsbane –_

"Quidditch player."

Luckily Healer Andrews had walked away already and hadn't seen her face fall all over again.

With a sigh of annoyance, Hermione tightened her hold on the clipboard and walked towards the allocated room.

The banes of her existence: Harry Potter doing grocery shopping and bloody Quidditch players.

Whoever hired medical staff for the bloody sport should be fired, she thought.

Ever since November, players had made up the bulk of St Mungo's patients and they walked in and out as if the hospital had a revolving door installed.

It was Thursday, she recalled. Quidditch match day. _Brilliant._

As per usual, when she entered the room, the player-turned-patient was reclining on the bed; still decked out in their dragon hide boots and gloves. In her experience, players were usually taken off the pitch with their helmets still on and beaters in hand. A flurry of profanities and verbal abuse directed at the medi-witches were also an expected accompaniment to players' arrivals, this athlete being no exception, except for one thing:

The very pale blond, with the instantly recognizable pointy features, was sporting a bloody nose.

A bloody _fucking_ nose.

Goddess, give me strength, she prayed.

"I swear to Merlin's bloody bollocks," he snapped, "I can do this myself."

Well at least someone knows that, Hermione thought, finding herself sharing his irritation as two medi-witches and three residents fussed over him. They seemed to be fighting over who got to be at his side. Idiots!

Breathe in. Count to ten. In. Out. "Excuse me."

And then a giggle erupted and – _No. I do not have time for this_.

With a loud whistle, the noise stopped. The five so-called medical professionals paused in their futile attempts to grab the Chaser on the plinth, and each of them turned to Hermione with wide eyes.

"Everyone who doesn't need to be in here needs to get out."

"But Healer Granger -"

"I didn't stutter, did I?" She interjected firmly, sending a glare their way. When the residents still looked a little reluctant, Hermione exhaled slowly. "Leave. Now. Or I'll whip your arses with disciplinary warnings for disorderly conduct and harassing a patient."

Opening and closing their mouths, one of the medi-witches ushered them out whilst the one charged with the room sullenly remained.

"As I live and breathe," Draco Malfoy drawled. "Still saving lives, Granger?"

"I wouldn't exactly rank fan-girl control as lifesaving," Hermione replied dryly as the medi-witch handed over the results of the few tests she had managed to do.

It was fortunate that Hermione was immune to the athlete's famed good looks (having him as a childhood nemesis will do that) although it might also have been as a result of the blood covering the lower half of his evidently defined features. She had endured many younger medi-witches' gushes in the staff canteen about _those_ since his debut two years ago.

"Occupational hazard," he said with a shrug, considerably calmer.

Her eyes ran over the results: No circulatory conditions; normal blood-sugar levels; no signs of infection; no virus or contagious disease identified; absolutely no fun at all. The medi-witch's pout seemed to agree as she reluctantly left the room.

Signing off on the data, Hermione asked, "Broken nose?"

"Cut it a bit too close with a Bludger, and didn't completely avoid it."

She raised a brow. "They couldn't have treated you on site?"

He raised hands slightly off the bed to physically express his exasperation. "That's what I said!" He frowned. "My mother's going to have a heart attack. You called her already, I assume?"

"I didn't, but that is protocol."

He groaned. "As if she didn't already have a reason to hate my job."

"Can't imagine why," Hermione replied loftily, "your medical team couldn't even repair a broken nose."

"I'm inclined to think the same of your residents," he retorted.

"I'm inclined to think similarly." Putting aside the clipboard, she raised her wand to him and thought he flinched before his nose was set.

Conjuring a cold cloth, she offered it to him. "Would you rather, or should I?"

"Wouldn't want to make your job too easy," Malfoy remarked with that trademark smirk of his.

Hermione snorted. "Of course."

As she lightly dabbed the blood from his upper lip and around his fixed nose, he said, "Rather ironic, don't you think? You broke my nose back in Third Year and now you've fixed it."

Surprised, she raised her eyes from her task to meet his as a corner of his mouth twitched upwards in amusement.

"That was years ago," she defended.

"How many years _has_ it been?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"Haven't seen you in ages," he continued anyway, "and now here we are. You as my Healer; me as your patient; arrived under the circumstances of my noteworthy occupation with a broken nose, only to be fixed by you, the girl who once despised me, and coincidentally, broke my nose when we were children."

"Will you be narrating the rest of our encounter, Malfoy?" she asked, bemused.

"Oh?" he asked, brows raised in amusement. "Is there more?"

She snorted again, spelling the bloodied cloth away. "Goodbye, Malfoy."

"You do work here though, don't you?"

"Now I know that's a rhetorical question," Hermione said, picking up the clipboard again and handing it to him. "Name, initials, and signature," she indicated.

"Well then, saying goodbye is a bit redundant considering we'll be seeing each other again," he pointed out, taking the quill from her.

"Seeing as your medical team isn't competent enough to fix a broken nose, I wouldn't be surprised," she agreed. "You really should do something about that."

"And be accused with having the best medical team in the industry because I _bought_ them?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you remember every conversation?"

"Only the ones with you."

Cheeky little shit.

"Until next time then."

He smirked. "It's a date."

 **A/n: To Rachel, my heart goes out to you. Truly. I'm terrible at tenses and grammar, and you've made my mess so much easier to read!**

 **So this story is mostly done, just going through edits before posting. If you like Healer Granger/Quidditch Malfoy, I also have a one-shot called** Bedside Manner **for those interested. Also, this story is technically complete so expect updates on Thursdays!**

 **Thank you so much for reading! If you are so inclined, please do leave a review!**


	2. Chapter 2

Thursdays

Chapter two

.

"Is he seeing anyone?"

"Does that matter?" Hermione didn't even bother looking up from her analysis report. The number of pureblood children presenting with a strain of wizarding disease similar to Chicken Pox was rapidly increasing. Genetically speaking, it was obvious that one's immune system would be severely compromised as a result of all that pureblood inbreeding but try putting that into a medical paper without sounding like a condescending know-it-all. Not that she wasn't, even she admitted that.

"Of course it matters," Cho retorted, "do you really want to be thought of as a hussy?"

She snorted. "I'm pretty sure Skeeter has managed to convince everyone in Great Britain that I'm as sexual as a potted plant."

The other witch laughed and reclined on the sofa as she took a swing of her beer. Although Hermione wasn't the type to indulge in drinking during daylight hours, after the fifteen-hour shift they just pulled, she was nursing a large glass of red herself.

"Quite sure Draco didn't think so," her companion sang.

"Oh hush, he's got supermodels on his arm draped in diamonds and silk," Hermione replied, sipping her Merlot, "what on earth would he want with me?"

"Well, you look quite fit with that over-sized t-shirt of yours. I hear it's the new Victoria," Cho informed with a suggestive wiggle of her brows. Having a pillow thrown her way, she only laughed. "Besides, I thought it _didn't matter_."

"'Didn't matter' does not translate to 'does not know'," Hermione reminded, rolling her eyes.

"It would be difficult not to," Harry added, as he strolled through the living room in his boxers, glasses eschew and hair in disarray, towards the kitchen. "Malfoy's headlining the Prophet."

"Isn't that because he was responsible for his team winning yesterday?"

"Yes," Cho said, brows rose again in Hermione's direction, "with only a broken nose to show for it."

"Huh," Harry added, blissfully unaware, "how ironic."

Instead of responding to the discussion, Hermione looked at him disapprovingly. "Really Harry, it's two in the afternoon, have you been in bed all day?"

The door to the guest room, or rather "his room", opened. Ginny appeared with equally tousled hair and bruised lips, wearing a dress that looked like it spent the night on the floor; carrying her underwear and shoes in one hand, no less.

Cho's mouth formed a scandalized "o" while Hermione continued to look unimpressed.

Harry was sheepish. "Something like that."

.

Rubbing the back of her neck to lessen the strain, Hermione groaned.

She couldn't decide if she liked case studies more than practical work. Whilst she enjoyed testing the wide expanse of her knowledge, her brain felt positively fried.

 _Merry Christmas to me_.

At least she didn't have to deal with the busload of Quidditch players that had arrived earlier. Some of the residents appeared to be losing their minds and the medi-witches in her ward were stuck babysitting the battered and bruised drama queens. Better them than her, Hermione thought gleefully, as she leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms above her head.

The residents in question were still quite upset that Hermione had kicked them out of Malfoy's room the previous Thursday and had sent her dirty looks since. If it weren't for Ginny's threat of extra gooey Bat Bogey Hexes two days ago when _she_ came in with a knock to the head from practice, Hermione was sure they'd still be giving themselves aneurysms with the strain they were putting on their eyes.

Cho, on the other hand, was stuck on rotations and planned to bag herself a tasty-looking Quidditch player of her own. Perhaps Pucey?

Hermione snickered at the thought; Angelina would rip Cho a new one for that, and Adrian would probably find himself the victim of an _accidental_ stabbing.

Checking her watch, the bushy-haired witch considered her options; continue to hide out in the research lab and dig around in the vain hope someone had left behind a packet of crisps, or brave the outside world and wander into the canteen for an _almost_ tolerable bite of real food.

Her stomach growled.

Damn.

Well, time enough had passed since the Quidditch players' arrival. The majority of the heat must've died down by now unless there was a serious injury which Hermione seriously doubted. She'd have heard crying at some point as residents walked passed to get to the changing rooms.

Earlier in the season, Albert Meyer had flown into the spectator stands at Goldwyn Metro Stadium and caught alight. He suffered second-degree burns to his torso and arms, and a concussion that led to a coma. Fortunately, the popular Beater was now well on his way to recovery. His accident had caused much upset with the residents, the medi-witches, and even the canteen staff, crying along with the hundreds of fans who had camped outside the hospital.

Retying her hair into a bun at the back of her head, and after securing it with the quill she had been using, Hermione tidied up her station and left.

The corridor was quiet as she walked towards the canteen, only a few people passed her and they all seemed too busy to pay her any heed. Not that they did anymore; her war-hero status had only lasted so long before she fell into the obscurity of "Harry Potter's smart best friend." Even then some idiots had mistaken that title for Ron!

She shook her head. It was a personal choice, of course, and not something Hermione minded one bit. It was so much easier to live quietly; it suited her lifestyle. She couldn't exactly be saving lives with people interrupting to ask for autographs or pictures! Admittedly, she missed all the Twinkling Truffles admirers had owled following her declaration of love for them in the culinary pull-out section of Witch Weekly.

Even then, there was a point after the war where, every few days, some grateful person sent her a gift basket, or she'd have her tab paid for at a restaurant or pub. Molly was quite put out at that, every time Hermione visited, she was much too full to have anything to eat (she tried and her jeans cursed her for it).

Ah well. When was the last time she had a good meal that wasn't canteen processed anyway? Between rotations, case studies, and the occasional clinical trial, Hermione had practically moved into the hospital since her residency. Medicine did not do holidays. Even in the magical world, the medical field was hardly as glamorous as it appeared.

Turning a corner she found herself staring at a torso covered in a black Quidditch chest plate, the crest of some team branded over the heart in white.

Hermione blinked in confusion.

Besides the hunger pangs and the whispers of dehydration, she was also in the twelfth hour of her shift and wasn't so quick to realise she had just walked face first into – as the Fates would have it – Draco Malfoy.

He, with all his finely tuned Quidditch reflexes, had stopped the collision as best as he could (if the hand cuffed on her upper arm to hold her steady was any indication).

"Fancy seeing you here, Granger," he greeted, oddly chipper.

"You really shouldn't be so happy to see me," she said, cursing the fact that she had to crane her neck to look at him. At this rather acute angle, the view of his finely cut jawline was distracting, to say the least, and it certainly didn't help when she found a corner of his lips pulling up into a half smile.

"Why not, didn't we agree to meet? I'm hurt," he feigned. "Did you forget?"

"It's Thursday," she reminded, "how could I?" The residents were always particularly insufferable on Thursdays after all.

He snickered, and although he didn't release her, he stepped away just enough that she could actually see his face without the added strain on her neck. It was bloody unfair that his jaw looked just as perfectly defined parallel to her than it did when he was directly above her. She supposed it had to be the upside of having such pointy features as a child. Draco had matured into his looks quite well from the widow's peak to the graceful arch of his nose. Ugh. How unfair was that on other blokes?

"See something you like?" he interrupted, sounding only vaguely pleased.

"Just glad that you aren't covered in blood this time," she said coolly, but it probably wasn't as effective knowing how warm her cheeks felt, and how Draco's stupid smirk seemed to broaden.

"I did have some time to clean up. It's been what?" he mused aloud, "An hour since I got here?"

Oh, she was well aware of that. Hermione had heard the gossip just outside the research lab as the residents fluffed themselves up for his arrival, and she'd ignored the ferociously annoying feeling in her stomach successfully for exactly sixty-nine minutes since.

She cleared her throat. "No injuries then?"

"Fortunately." Reaching up to run an ungloved hand through his pale blond hair, slightly dewy from sweat, he said, "Though some of them weren't so lucky."

Her brows furrowed in worry. Perhaps she'd been wrong and there _was_ someone with a life-threatening injury somewhere, and the residents were too deep in mourning to wail. "Who?"

He froze for a fraction of a second, as if caught, before smoothly replying, "Davidson, the fool flew right towards the Beaters."

"Isn't he on the other team?" she asked in confusion. He was, wasn't he? Merlin, she really should listen to Cho and Ginny when they went off about the politics involving the damned sport.

"I'm allowed to show concern," he said, actually sounding offended.

"Oh yes, of course," Hermione dismissed quickly, feeling embarrassed that she may have given him the wrong impression (clearly), and she physically waved it off. "I just meant, surely he'd know not to do that. Beaters are practically Chasers' natural enemies; I wouldn't show him much sympathy for that display." And she wouldn't. As with everything she did, Hermione ensured that she knew enough to keep up (and occasionally exceed) the knowledge of the game that her friends adored. She still thought it a dreadful sport, but that was beside the point.

Physically, the man relaxed just enough for his hand to drop from her arm. "The Beaters weren't very remorseful, and neither were his team, but Davidson's latest piece of skirt was too upset to come here alone."

He nodded towards the waiting area where a woman, who Hermione vaguely recognized from the gossip section of the Prophet, was currently applying heavy layers of magical mascara. "Oh yes," she found herself echoing, "quite upset."

He coughed, lowering his voice, "She pitched a fit and refused to leave without me because I caused it."

Her brows raised to touch her hairline as amusement flashed in her eyes. "And did you?"

"Wasn't even near the bloke," Draco informed flatly, "but she's got claws like a harpy, and I need my hand."

"Do you really?"

He smirked.

Hermione shook her head quickly trying to dispel the blood rushing to her cheeks. "Not like that!"

"It's useful for other things."

"Mmhmm," she mumbled, hastening past him but he fell easily into step beside her thanks to those long legs of his. Ugh.

He casually elaborated, "Such as holding cutlery."

Hermione huffed, annoyed that he wasn't intending to leave her be. Despite all the ways Draco had changed since they had become reacquainted, his habit of vexing her was still to the fore. "You could just eat with your hands."

"I don't particularly like playing with my food," he said smoothly, holding open the door for her as they reached the canteen. Jerk.

"Speaking of, you haven't eaten yet, I assume," he noted, realizing where they were.

"Nope." In the corner of the room, some other residents congregated at a table, eying them over their Styrofoam coffee cups and measly bran muffins.

"Looks bland," he remarked, leaning over the display to view the wilted vegetable stir-fry, dried out pasta salad, and congealing cottage pie. Why a fully-funded hospital couldn't keep food fresh _with magic_ Hermione would never understand.

"Beggars can't be choosers."

His nose crinkled rather adorably. "Do you even have proper cutlery here?" The plastic utensils were not, according to him, sufficient.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione sighed.

"This isn't exactly fine dining, Malfoy. Even for Christmas."

Apart from a little tinsel, bits of cracked holly, and the occasional wilting mistletoe hanging in a few doorways, everything seemed boringly normal. In fact, with bits and pieces of two Quidditch teams along with the number of heavily-merchandised fans that had come in hoping to see their favorite players loitering about, the hospital was more representative of the Quidditch World Cup than the Christmas holidays.

"I could help with that."

"What," Hermione mocked, "you're going to sponsor dinners now, are you?"

Casting aside a canteen tray with distaste, Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "If you say yes to going out with me, consider it done, Granger."

* * *

 **A/n: May I just say how wonderful you guys are? Because really, you all are! I hadn't expected much of a response if I'm being honest, this being my first full-length fic, but I'm so grateful that you guys like what you see so far.**

 **The story is complete, just waiting on edits by my amazing beta, Rachel. So when I have them all in, the story will likely be updated daily.**

 **If you liked it (or didn't) please do leave a review my way below, or just hit the "follow" or "favorite" tab to show your support.**

 **Until next, Angela**


	3. Chapter 3

Thursdays

Chapter three

.

"I'm concerned."

Draco looked amused. "Oh?"

"You're being very nice," she began, glancing at him curiously over the rim of an actual coffee mug.

Throughout their walk to the café-styled restaurant beyond Diagon Alley, the pair of them managed to get along quite well. Draco, it seemed, was full of surprises.

The fact that he'd chosen the hole-in-the-wall restaurant, hidden away between an umbrella shop and a vintage store, was strange enough. In addition, he looked merely curious when he discovered it was a muggle eatery and had politely engaged their elderly waitress in conversation.

After prattling on about how long the restaurant had been there ("Twenty-eight years, dear. It's a miracle really, considering no one can ever find us! I always tell my husband, we own the place together you see, I tell him -") and what their specialty was ("Apple pie, you really must try it, dear, with the ice-cream! Oh, a meal? Hmm-hmm, let's see - Bangers and Mash! No-no, silly me, that's breakfast. Ho-hum, let me check -") before changing gears to enquire about them ("Such a handsome couple, have you two been together long? You have a very aristocratic face, dear, you remind me so much of -"). The mini-drama was handled by Draco with far more patience than Hermione would have had given him credit for. She was, however, completely baffled by the whole affair.

She certainly was not expecting this when she had said yes to him.

All she wanted was real food to eat. He wasn't serious. This wasn't a date.

"And that's...concerning?" he repeated slowly once Marta departed, a single brow arched in question.

Hermione nodded resolutely. "It's strange," she decided. If anyone had told her ten years ago she would be having dinner with Draco Malfoy, of her own free will, she would have laughed so hard she'd have needed a new gut to bust. This was the boy who tormented and bullied her since she was eleven after all!

"I can be nice," he sniffed.

"When?" she asked incredulously.

"Come now, Granger," he drawled, "you just said that I was."

"Christmas spirit, Malfoy?" He snorted, and putting down her mug, she continued to eye him. "What I want to know is why -"

"Isn't that the required behavior for people going on a date?" he interrupted.

There was that word again. There was _no way_. "On a date…with me?"

His lips twitched. "Was I not clear when I asked you twenty minutes ago?" He looked behind him then as if he could find someone to verify the earlier exchange, and she narrowed her eyes.

And that's when it clicked.

"Is this some kind of joke, or dare, or-or-or something?" she demanded. Of course, it would be. "Can't have a good thing like a free meal without a catch, can I?" she mumbled under her breath.

"What?" Draco looked alarmed. "No, of course not. Granger, you can't be serious -"

"I am," she interjected, "but I won't be leaving because you're paying and I'm starving." She crossed her arms and smirked at him. There. I don't care. I'm just here for the food.

He frowned and, for several moments, they were silent.

She took to examining the décor of the quirky establishment (it was a mixture of gypsy-Boho and Steampunk) that lacked any of the Christmas cheer outside whilst he seemed to ruminate in displeasure. Good.

Marta came by a few minutes later to set their meals before them (Hermione's eyes practically glazed over at the stack of flapjacks) and looked like she wanted to comment on the sudden tension in the air. But the older woman thought better of it and primly told them to enjoy their food. All professional like. Fine, Hermione thought, take _his_ side.

Stopping her from inhaling her plate, Draco said, "Just so you know, this isn't a joke."

"Then why ask me out on a-a-"

"Date?" There was a furrow in his brow, confusion, and apprehension present in his grey eyes, before he seemed to find what he was looking for in her neutral (though admittedly embarrassed) expression and taunted, "Can't say the word, Granger?"

"Of course I can," she snapped, "it's just…been awhile," she trailed with a scowl.

"Hmm, I wonder why."

Hermione tensed. There he was. _This_ Draco Malfoy I can deal with and, just as she was about to open her mouth and tell him off, he pointed at her plate with his fork. "If anyone should be concerned, it should be me. Breakfast for dinner? Are you well?"

At the abrupt change, the rant came easily from her lips, "Excuse me? Breakfast for dinner is the greatest thing in existence, and I feel sorry for your lack of adventurous spirit when it comes to meals." She gestured at his plate. "And _come on_ , turkey and ham?"

"It's a Christmas-time staple," Draco defended.

"It's boring."

"And you don't do boring?"

"I am not -" Boring. Yeah, a voice in the back of Hermione's head interjected, you are. Wasn't that the reason Nathan –

"According to Cho, you aren't," Draco interrupted smoothly, filling the gap when her jaw simply clamped shut, refusing to allow her the chance to complete her sentence. "You're the one who keeps looking for serious injuries to treat at the hospital. _You're_ the truly awful one here."

"You'd beg for it after getting mediocre procedures day in, day out," Hermione challenged.

"Isn't that a good thing, though? Mediocre means less chance of something bad happening, doesn't it?"

"But where's the fun in that?"

The ridicule she was expecting didn't come. "Can't argue with that," he voiced, "you were always frighteningly ambitious for a Gryffindor."

Perhaps she should give him more credit, she thought, as she felt a begrudging smile pull at her mouth. "Should have been a Ravenclaw, right?"

Draco snorted. "Haven't brushed up on Hogwarts: A History lately, Granger? The ambitious go to Slytherin."

She smirked. "Think I'd be a good one?"

"You'd look good in green," he approved, his eyes penetrating hers, and she felt that embarrassed flush return as she picked up her coffee mug and took a long sip.

She was all too aware that she was still wearing her hospital robes. With an ink stain over her left breast pocket, the white colour of her garments definitely _not_ as white as they should have been; not exactly impressive date attire. If it was a date. Which it certainly wasn't. That was established already. Stop thinking about it.

"Can't imagine you in anything but green, to be honest; I think you were sorted quite well," Hermione finally managed.

"Family tradition, every Malfoy is a Slytherin," Draco informed, clearly proud as there was a hint of reverence to his comment like it wasn't just something to boast about but something to aspire to.

It was weird to be impressed by him, right?

"So what exactly brought this whole thing up?"

"The fact that I asked you out, or that I'm out with you right now?" he queried after taking a bite of his traditional Christmas dinner.

"Aren't they the same thing?" Not that he was serious about the first part. Obviously.

"Oh Granger," he tsked, "I thought you of all people would be conscious of the fact that Slytherins don't do anything for nothing."

She snorted. Obviously. "So what, may I ask, is the motive here?"

"Well, we're out right now to catch up," he answered, "it's been almost six years, hasn't it?"

"If we're counting." She really hadn't until he'd shown up in her life again. Beyond a glance at his face in the papers and the sound of his last name in passing Quidditch conversation, Hermione could honestly say she didn't think much about him at all. Besides, the man seemed far removed from the boy she knew anyway.

Also, if she _had_ kept track of him, she probably would not have been pleased to discover her childhood tormentor was living the high life with his professional Quidditch career and bachelor lifestyle. Whatever happened to Karma?

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips again. "I'm interested in what you've been up to all this time. Surely The Brightest Witch of Our Generation has been busy?"

If only. Whilst she was proud of her achievements, they weren't exactly 'lead the country to victory on an international level.' Hermione shrugged. "Not more than you, I'm sure. I just work for a living."

"Yes, cutting up bodies, finding new cures, reattaching body parts; all very boring things," he declared with a somber nod of his head.

She ignored the urge to smile a little more at that.

"If you must know," she allowed, "they're far from it, unfortunately, the opportunity doesn't occur as often as it used to."

"Makes me wonder why you'd trade it in then."

"Fishing, are we?"

He raised his hands. "Making conversation."

"Fair enough," she said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "It's nothing to Salem, or even Avignon, for that matter."

"You went to healer school there, didn't you?"

"For a while, yes, most of my studies were completed in Salem." He probably knew this if he knew about France, frankly, _everybody_ knew about France. "But go on," she waved, "I'm sure you're dying to ask."

 _"_ About? _"_ he feigned innocence.

Hermione gave him a look. "Like you said, Slytherins don't do anything for nothing."

"And what makes you think I want that question answered?"

"You're not as slick as you think." Draco's calculated bites and measured glances were enough to indicate that _this_ was a topic he was interested in and was trying to be subtle about. For all the hell he had put her through during Hogwarts, Hermione liked to think she was observant enough to notice a person's giveaways after seven years in school together.

He bowed his head gracefully. "I concede."

She reached for the syrup, sighing dramatically, "Well go for it then. What do you want to know?"

"Is everything an option?" At her look, he raised his hands again. "Fine, the brief of it then."

Ah yes, the nonexistent juicy details: "I met him during an interview for the healer school in Avignon. I ended up choosing to stay in France and, yes, it was because of him – hormones and beautiful French accents are the true culprits to my plight," she admitted, "It didn't work out. So I left, partially from embarrassment and partially because, if I ever see his stupid face again, I'll hex it off. That's all there is to it really, despite what the Prophet made it out to be."

"You were engaged, though," he reminded carefully.

"Actually, not only was he a cheating bastard, he had a big mouth too. We were never engaged, saying he was with me – Brightest Witch of Our Age – just looked good for him," she said with a shrug. "Lesson learned. No more French accents."

Draco shook his head. "A tragedy, and here I was thinking I could seduce you with it."

She spluttered, half in amusement and disbelief. "You have a French accent?"

"Have to if I want to speak it properly, and my mother abhors anything done _im_ properly. It's quite sexy, if I do say so myself." And he did, he was even preening a little.

At that, she laughed. "I'd take you up on that if the language wasn't ruined for me forever."

He clicked his tongue. "Disappointing. How about Cantonese? No? I suppose I'll have to find another way to seduce you."

"You keep saying that," she pointed out, giggling still, "and I don't think it means what you think it means."

"And what, Granger, do you think it means?"

Oh hell, what could it hurt to voice it aloud? It wasn't like he hadn't made fun of her, or ruined her life before, right? "That you actually like me and want to date me."

"Perish the thought, Malfoys don't date."

No. I'm not disappointed. Shut up brain. "Yet," she tutted, "we're on one."

"Just the one," he allowed, his eyes doing a thing that was dangerously close to, what Hermione would consider, 'twinkling' at her admission that it was _finally_ a date, "to assuage my curiosity."

"And was it assuaged?"

"Perhaps," he said, "but we'll just have to see. Won't we?"

Outside the festivities continued in high spirits, and as they paused to listen and chuckle at the off-key singing taking place in the street, she observed, "Never imagined I'd be spending Christmas with you."

He looked like he would have smiled. "I'd raise a glass but I don't have one. May I?" He gestured towards her mug.

Entertained she slid it towards him and clearing his throat as if to make some grandiose speech, he declared, "Happy Christmas Granger, let's do this again sometime."

"Even with our obviously non-traditional Christmas dinner?"

"Clearly I can do without it," he said dryly. "Although next time, I'm going to have to insist we do something a little more special. One must consider the occasion."

She laughed then. "What makes you think we'll be spending Christmas together next year?"

He smirked and brought her mug to his lips, taking a drink. Her medical-induced hatred of germs kicked in and she protested loudly, to no avail.

When he was done, Hermione noticed that he drank from exactly the same spot she had. The stain of her lipstick was now on his. Her annoyance turned to laughter.

Merry Christmas indeed.

* * *

 **A/n: Full disclosure, I actually wrote this in a week in November of last year, I think.**

 **Thank you again for the wonderful comments, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you guys in the next one** **Also, I changed the summary because frankly it was awful and I was in a rush.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

Thursdays

Chapter four

.

"Is missing out on the holidays part of the reason your mother dislikes your job?" Hermione found herself asking as they strolled back to the hospital, taking the long way at Draco's insistence. It was one thing to miss out on the traditional Christmas dinner, but entirely another to miss out on the festive lights that illuminated both the Muggle and Magical sides of Britain. Some things, he said, are simply sacred.

"Partly," Draco admitted, "and you? Can't imagine that you'd want to miss out on family time."

Hermione shrugged. "The Weasleys are lovely, they are, and they've always been family to me. But at the same time, they're just _not_. Harry's spending Christmas at Grimmauld place, and I just can't go back there."

His brows furrowed in thoughtful concern. "And your family?"

She exhaled, and the air condensed around her. "They're gone. It's just me."

"And what am I, pickled newt intestines?" he complained, and she found herself laughing again.

"Not the same thing. Really, though, if it weren't for you offering food, I'd be spending the holidays with my case studies in the research lab. I swear even Crookshanks would rather be taking a nap than decorating a tree with me." Not that she did that anymore either.

"That's depressing Granger," he exhaled, "you need better friends."

"Or a better Christmas spirit," she remarked, shaking her head. The holidays used to be just as important to her; it was the only opportunity she took to be with her family during school and without them –

"I could fix that," he pondered aloud and, without thinking, she replied, "You already did."

Turning to look at him properly when he didn't reply, Hermione smiled. "Thanks for keeping me company."

Though he didn't say anything for several minutes, Hermione could spot just a hint of a blush rising in his cheeks (probably just the cold) before he looked away. "Didn't get you a gift, though."

"Free food counts."

"Still not very Christmas-like," he said, his voice still tinged with disapproval although she swore the lift at the corner of his lips was that elusive smile of his. She only grinned.

"You and tradition, though, it's not _that_ important."

"Wait." He grabbed her arm as she walked past him, and she complied easily.

"What?"

Gesturing above them at an overhanging sign for Saville Row, Draco stated, "Mistletoe."

"What?" she repeated.

"Let me have this, would you?" he said with a roll of his eyes.

And because they had spent the past two hours (really, had it already been two hours?) teasing each other, she crossed her arms and looked at him challengingly. When he did nothing, she arched a brow. "Traditionally, the guy kisses the girl."

"Did you not just say that tradition wasn't that important?" Bastard.

Hermione had just noticed how near they were to the hospital when Draco turned her swiftly around to face him. His hand slipped from her elbow to her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. The other hand rested tenderly on her cheek as he brushed his lips against hers.

Just then a small parade of Christmas revelers staggered passed murdering traditional carols whilst blissfully unaware that, for Hermione Granger, the world had just turned upside down.

.

"Did he owl you?"

"Ginny, please -"

"Did he?" the redhead demanded.

"Of course not, it was just one kiss," Hermione muttered, waving her hand about to dismiss her friend. She quickened her pace in order to exit the reception area, away from the accusatory gazes of the residents and various medi-witches. The supply closet that housed the saline solutions seemed like a very welcome place to examine – thoroughly – right now. Ginny, however, followed.

"Yes, with Draco _bloody_ Malfoy!"

Hissing a "shhh" at the woman, Hermione said, "Need I remind you that I'm at work?"

"Need _I_ remind you that I don't care?"

She sighed, stacking three saline pouches on top of one another. "Gin, seriously, not now."

"If not _now_ , _when?_ If not _when_ , _why?_ " Ginny whined, continuing to follow the bushy-haired witch about like a love-sick puppy. Hermione then tried to escape to the ER, as another round of Quidditch players were being tucked into beds in varying degrees of injury. Quidditch match day never failed to disappoint.

"Work."

"Bull! You could get every single one of them out of here with your eyes closed whilst doing your nails in five minutes." Throwing Ginny a dull look, Hermione gestured for her to get on the plinth, causing the-world's-most-annoying redhead to frown. "But I'm not injured."

Picking up a mirror, left behind during a minor facial-correction spell, Hermione flashed the reflective glass to indicate the large, albeit bloodless, cut running from Ginny's hairline straight through one of her eyebrows. The redhead gasped, snatching the mirror. "No!"

"Sit," Hermione ordered.

Obeying the bossy witch, purely due to shock, Ginny complied as Hermione drew the partition closed to give her patient some privacy.

"You won, at least."

"They took my photo after the match! They're running it in tomorrow's paper!"

"Your pride will survive it, Gin," Hermione soothed, "and I'm sure Harry won't mind, you match now."

Throwing a half-hearted punch, the redhead scowled. "I thought you weren't coming home until six, okay? Let it _goooo_."

"Keep him in his room for a whole week, I don't care," Hermione said, "fuck him on my dining table, and you're basically dead to me."

"It was hot, though."

"Not even going to grace that with an answer."

"It was Christmas," Ginny whined.

Hermione groaned. "Don't give me flashbacks."

"Of what – Harry getting his gift, or you getting yours?"

She groaned again. "You make it sound so bad, and it was _nothing_ like that."

" _You kissed!_ "

"What are you, five?"

" _Hermioneee_!"

"It was nothing!"

Ginny frowned. "It's been a week!" Hermione was well aware of that; she had counted down the hours that had passed since Draco had left her back to the hospital, hating herself for it. He had not been in touch since. But what does it matter? _It wasn't a date_ , she reminded herself.

" _He paid for dinner,"_ Ginny said, guessing her thoughts by the expression on Hermione's face, _"you kissed!"_

" _I know_ , and it doesn't change the fact that he hasn't contacted me since." She exhaled before adding sharply, "So can _you let it goooo_?"

The redhead scowled. "He's damned lucky we didn't face him today, I would have sent him straight here!"

"And what makes you think I want him here?" Hermione challenged.

"Not to you, to one of those peons outside!"

"Gin," she said in warning.

" _What_? _You_ think so!"

"Doesn't mean I'll say it out loud," she retorted.

Ginny huffed. "So, what do you suggest? It isn't as if he's terribly busy, you saw the Prophet!" Lo and behold, Magical Britain's most reliable source of information tended to run the raggiest front pages, and last week's edition was covered with Malfoy's dumb face. Appearing sinful in formal dress robes at some socialite event, a beautiful nameless witch on his arm, and his other hand stuffed in his pocket – all casual-like. Traditional Boxing Day dinner, _my arse_.

"Suggest? Ginny, we aren't kids! If all he wanted was to waste his time, and mine, last week then so be it. It's done. Getting angry about it won't give me those two hours back. I'm still pissed about it, and I probably will be for a little while, but I'll be fine." Still, the other witch frowned, and Hermione sighed in defeat. "Let it go Gin, please?"

"He shouldn't have done that," Ginny continued to push.

"No, he shouldn't have," she agreed, "but I shouldn't have had any expectations." With the cut healed at the flick of her wrist, Hermione tried to smile.

The redhead didn't return it. "Did you, though, have expectations? You're so careful, so picky when it comes to letting people in -"

"I am, but this is clearly why."

Ginny didn't miss the fact that her best friend avoided answering the first question. She offered her arms in a hug, which Hermione gratefully accepted. The fiery redhead spoke softly into the untamed tresses, "You deserve to be happy, Hermione. You deserve to have all of your expectations met, you deserve so bloody much, you know? And it makes me so angry that you don't get that, not just from other people, but from yourself. It's like you know what you're worth, but are still waiting for someone to validate it, and you don't need that."

"It's different to know and another to _know_."

Ginny squeezed her arms tighter. "I know it won't make it better, but can I still send him a Howler?"

"You already did," Hermione said, her exhale coming out in a laugh.

"You know me so well!"

The rush of Quidditch players dissipated and, several hours later, the hospital was quiet once more. It took swearing to come to Sunday lunch for Hermione to get rid of Ginny, but even she had to admit the afternoon's distraction had been welcome. Without the rush of work, the exhaustion was finally beginning to settle in.

Hermione exchanged a glance with Cho as the other witch came to lean against the wall beside her. "You should pass out in the on-call room," she said.

"I'm thinking about it," Cho said, "but I feel like I need the wall to stand."

"How was resetting Marlene's leg?"

"Amazing," she revealed with a tired smile. "Her knee was totally facing the wrong way, it was so messed up! To hear it crack back into place was so satisfying. How was that giant boil you got?"

"Disgusting," Hermione declared her smile just as tired but also just as broad. "As Ron would say, it was wicked."

"What caused it?"

"Allergic reaction to a new mandrake ointment and, get this! _"_ Hermione face lit up with excitement, despite her exhaustion, _"_ Mr. Ollivander had Dragon Pox as a child and, instead of resurfacing the illness, it developed a new one in the form of the boil – all the symptoms of DP but congregated in one area. It was practically cancerous!" It took almost three hours of spell work to diagnose and contain the symptoms, and another four hours to remove it safely. Hermione still had to formulate a stronger brew to ensure the symptoms would completely abate but, Merlin; it was the most challenging surgery she had ever got.

Cho whistled. "Nice."

"I know!"

"Soooo," the other witch dragged out, "on-call room?"

"Do you need help to get there?" Hermione asked, amused.

"Please."

Chuckling, Hermione proffered her arm and the two ambled down the corridor. "I can't wait to sleep," Cho declared.

"Neither can I," Hermione admitted, "but I haven't eaten yet, and I need a shower."

With an exaggerated sniff, her companion joked, "I'll say."

Quietly, the other witch snorted and shoved her with her hip. "I'll leave you right here and you can sleep on the floor, Chang."

"But you _looove meee_."

"I love Harry too, and I kicked him out," Hermione reminded.

"Well to be fair, he railed Ginny on your dining table."

"I know," she grimaced, "I need to burn it."

"We can build a pyre," Cho offered, "Make a few sacrifices, be immortal, what do you say?"

"Ugh, I'm too tired to be immortal. I'm thinking that I need to be in a small coma for a few weeks," Hermione complained.

"We can do that. I still think we need to sacrifice something, just for fun."

"Marshmallows? We can camp in the living room, make tents out of blankets," Hermione thought aloud.

"Ooh, that sounds fun. Is Luna coming?"

She shrugged. "I just thought of this now, but we can invite her."

"She has the best stories," Cho said thoughtfully.

"Mmm, I need a little whimsy."

"There will be girl talk, though."

"From Luna?" The only girl talk Luna indulged in was Nargles. Some things really didn't change.

"No, dummy."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I won't have anything to contribute then."

"Then what's that thing in the on-call room?"

Hermione paused. "What thing?"

"That thing," Cho said, making a vague gesture towards the room. "It's got your name on it, and I checked, it's not cursed or from any of the residents."

Brows furrowed, Hermione opened the door to the on-call room reserved for the attending healers. With only the two of them standing in the doorway, the room was devoid of people and only contained a bunk bed, a small couch, a kitchen nook with an eating area, and another door leading to a bathroom.

On the bottom mattress, however, there was an envelope set atop a blanket that wasn't there before. As Hermione picked it up, her fingers brushed against the throw and she nearly groaned. It was faux fur with a finishing so soft it felt like pure silk and, oddly enough, it was a charmed to look like the sleek scales of a vivid green snake.

"Looks like someone got the memo wrong," Cho remarked, "you're a Gryffindor."

The card inside was as elegant as the throw; it was the palest shade of Tea Green, ultra-thick, with a familiar family crest in raised print on one side. On the other was one word, penned with a neat hand, in the blackest ink - "Granger". The confused furrow of Hermione's brow alleviated to a crease.

"Not to everyone," she muttered, staring at her name and debating on whether she wanted to accept his peace offering or not.

"Well?"

"I'm deciding whether his excuse is worth mink."

"Faux mink," Cho corrected.

"False excuse?"

She snorted. "Don't look so deep, Hermione, I'm pretty sure you'd skin him yourself if it was a real mink throw. _"_

"The irony," Hermione remarked with a slight smirk.

Collapsing on the couch, Cho said, "You're both rather full of it. No matter what you do, keep the blanket. I'd like to be wrapped in it when I die."

"Ew, keep your decaying body away from my blanket."

Dramatically sighing, Cho threw her face into a plain cotton pillow, "What's a girl gotta do to get a rich Quidditch player?"

"Break his nose and fix it ten years later," Hermione offered.

"Ugh, who has the patience for that? Screw it, I'm becoming a stripper."

"Good call," she praised, "they'll pay you to keep your clothes on." The pillow was thrown her way, and Hermione squealed. "You drooled!"

* * *

 **A/n: I've almost got all my chapters back so this story is nearing its completion! Thank you so much for sticking around, and extra special thank you to Rachel for her amazing beta-skills!**

 **Please do leave a review if you are so inclined, below, I'd really appreciate it :)**

 **Until next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

Thursdays

Chapter five

.

For once Hermione wasn't at work, and it felt both freeing and disconcerting to be without her hospital robes. Hair tied in a bun, her watch dangling from her mouth; she readjusted her shoe whilst glancing over her shoulder as a couple walked past with a dog on a leash.

At the greeting bark of the terrier, she smiled, perilously close to dropping her watch. Once her shoe was secured, she removed the gadget and wrapped it around her wrist. It wasn't the newest digital on the market, but Hermione was pleased at the smooth design. Setting the time on it, she stretched her quads by hooking her ankle over her hand behind her.

At the beep, she took off in a jog down the street.

Whilst no one seemed to be following her lead, despite seeing people regularly going for a run, Hermione was determined. She pictured the familiar faces still passed out in their beds in the aftermath of the global celebrations.

Hermione had always planned to exercise more often, or so she had herself convinced. It had nothing to do with seeing Malfoy in the paper every day for the past two weeks, with a new witch each time. Absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.

The fact they were beautiful - tall, sophisticated, and curvy in all the right places - went without saying. Despite convincing herself otherwise, she knew she had to at least attempt to compete with them.

Ferociously, Hermione shook her head. Stupid Malfoy.

Following the pavement in the brisk morning wind, Hermione found a comforting sense of peace and wondered why she didn't run more often.

Five kilometers later she understood why, as she dry heaved at the side of the road - one hand holding onto the bars that separated the street from the park and another at her knee.

"I survived a war, capture, and torture, and I'm being internally destroyed by physical activity," she mumbled to herself between her heaving.

Malfoy's witches probably never ended up in this position, unless they were in bed of course. Ugh. Stupid Prophet with its stupid gossip section filled with stupid Malfoy.

Wiping off the sweat that dripped from her temple, despite the chill in the air, she walked back to her flat.

Walking towards the door, reaching for her key that was secured in her breast pocket, his voice suddenly shattered the silence, _"_ Avoiding me, Granger? _"_

All she needed to do was turn the lock but she chose to glance over her shoulder instead. "Stalking? Have you really gone so far?"

He wasn't dressed in wizarding robes this time, opting instead for a Burberry coat and powder blue scarf.

"It's been two weeks," he stated plainly, his voice level. Hermione turned to face him.

"Yes, well," Hermione huffed, pulling out the card that had been burning a hole through her pocket but, for some bizarre reason, she couldn't throw away, "this isn't going to cut it."

"Did you read it?"

"I did." Not that it revealed anything. The card, with its family crest, only echoed the sentiment she didn't believe – he had had an awful time at that socialite party his mother made him attend – and that he was sorry he didn't send her a message sooner. Of course, she didn't care. Not at all.

That she ended up spending the last two weeks cuddling the bloody mink throw was another story.

"And?"

"And I don't care," she said with a shrug. "You could have owled me instead of sending a calling card. What am I, some kind of weird hooker you treat to the 'girlfriend' experience and then ignore? Did you think all would be forgiven with some expensive _blanket_?"

"I didn't mean it that way -"

"Well that's the way it came across," Hermione interrupted, arms crossed.

"I _didn't_ mean it that way, truly, Granger. I'm…I'm sorry."

"What do you want from me Malfoy, really?" Hermione asked quietly, not even noticing that Draco had ascended the stairs and now stood one step below her. They were almost the same height.

"I thought it was obvious," he responded in kind.

"You didn't so much as owl me for a whole week, and all of a sudden you drop off an extravagant gift and a card that explains nothing!"

"It took a while to make," he explained, with a flush to his cheeks. Hermione looked horrified.

"It's not actually _real_ , is it?"

Realizing she thought he had meant the blanket, Draco looked just as shocked. "No! Merlin, no!"

"Then what took an entire week that you couldn't just write me -"

"The card."

She asked incredulously, "The calling card?" Images of scrapbooking kits and craft scissors flashed before her eyes.

He winced then. "It's not…it's a portkey."

"A portkey," Hermione repeated, "to where?"

Reaching into his pocket, Draco produced a signet ring that bore his family crest.

"Malfoy, what -"

"To me, it leads to me."

"Then why -"

His smile was wan. "It only activates under certain conditions such as increased heart rate, flushing skin, dilated pupils -"

"You do realize that love is a disease, don't you?" she interjected.

"Well, you have it."

"I was _exercising_ , Malfoy," she explained with a mixture of gentleness and exhaustion, "the increased endorphins produce similar effects."

"But you were still thinking of me."

Hermione recoiled, brow furrowed. "How do you figure?"

Reaching for her hand, Draco tugged her gently towards him, placing his signet ring in the heart of her palm. A warmth emanated, the familiar buzz of magic.

"Why would you -"

"I like you, Granger," it was his turn to interject, "and I didn't know how to make you believe me."

What? She exhaled slowly, shaking her head as she did so. "You could have just told me."

He gave her a look that clearly asked, "Would you have believed me?"

Worrying her bottom lip, she decided that no, she wouldn't have.

"It was a bit of trickery," he continued to quietly reveal, "and I'm sorry for it. If I knew for sure you felt the same, I wouldn't have done it."

"You doubted?"

" _You_ did," he said, "so I did too."

All she could do was stare at him.

"I chickened out with the portkey and changed it after it was delivered so that it could only do this," he gestured to their surroundings, "when you thought of me instead of bringing you to where I was. It helped knowing you thought of me as much as you did, but you never said anything."

"With all those witches you're constantly in the tabloids with, how could I possibly realise you liked me in _any_ way? How can I compare?"

It was his turn to stare at her, apparently confused judging by the slight frown on his forehead.

"We aren't children anymore," Hermione reminded with a sigh. "Just tell me what you want, what you want to do with-with this -" she waved at the decreasing space between them.

"You, Granger. I want you."

She paused, biting her tongue on the incredulous retort that was sure to come out and prove him right, she choose to say exasperatedly, "Merlin, this is going to complicate things, isn't it? Fragile self-esteem, trust issues, busy work schedule. Do you even realize what you're getting into, Malfoy?"

Though he smiled, the look in his eyes was resolute. "I want you."

"Then you're going to have to work your arse off to make me believe you," she said, still in warning.

"Only if you give me a chance," he chided, as if berating her, "a proper one, where you actually admit we're going on a date, you accept that I'm flirting with you, and you understand I _will_ seduce you." His eyes darkened as his sentence came to an end.

She felt a tentative smile. "I'll…I'll try."

"Then, challenge accepted." He leaned in towards her then, his lips lingering close to her lips. Hermione jumped back, arms out in front of her. _"_ Hold it right there, Malfoy! I _will not_ kiss on the first date. _"_

"Technically this isn't. Our first date was at Christmas, and," he interjected, as he saw her lips part to refute it, he added quickly, "you agreed it was a date, begrudging as it was."

"Are we really going to count this as a date, though?" she enquired.

He considered before replying, "We can make it one. You aren't working today are you?"

"Well no, but you are."

"After we win."

Her brow cocked. "How do you know you'll win?"

"Granger," he feigned offense, hand over heart. "Have a little faith in me, would you?"

"Fine," she conceded, "but don't you want to celebrate with your team when you hypothetically win?" she posed, brow arched.

He smirked. "I spend Thursdays with you."

Her exhale came as a chuckle. "Goodbye, Malfoy."

"So later then?" he persisted, apparently intent on continuing the conversation, and he was rewarded with a nod and a shy upturn of her lip. His answering smile was enough to make her empathize with the residents. Stupid Draco and his stupid beautiful smile.

Scrambling for a reply as the blood continued to fill her cheeks, she fiddled with her keys, "Don't end up in St Mungo's though, I'm not on call for two more days and I don't want to see that place until then, got it?"

He held up a hand, signet ring now in place. "Slytherin's honor."

"Also," it was her turn to stall as he turned to walk down the steps, "be careful out there."

"Do I get a good luck kiss?"

Hermione snorted. "Do you actually need it?"

"You never know." He winked. Ugh, this was going to be a nightmare, she thought helplessly.

"No kissing on the first date," she repeated.

"Not our first date," he said, "second in-the-making. Besides, we kissed on the first one anyway."

"It was the mistletoe."

" _Sure_."

"Malfoy, if we want this to work, you're just going to have to console yourself with the fact that I'm always right," she informed flatly.

Still, he grinned. "Yes, love."

Her cheeks couldn't possibly get any redder, could it? "Oh, and also," Hermione said, "I still want you to owl me, and you aren't forgiven until you do."

The grin disappeared. "Still?" he asked in confusion, _"_ I thought I was forgiven. _"_

"Oh no! The two weeks of static silence was just retribution for this stunt," she waved the card around again, and when he continued to look at her in silent bafflement, Hermione smirked. "I was feeling petty."

He opened and closed his mouth, clearly having nothing to say until she turned for the door again.

"Anything else I should know about?" he called out.

Staring intently at the door knob, she pondered his question before slowly turning around, "I don't share so your face had better not be featured with any other witch besides me. Got it?"

"My mother?" he enquired.

"Her too."

"Deal."

"I mean it," Hermione added, her tone serious. "France I could escape, but not Britain so don't…please..." The words failed her and, in a flash, Draco bounded back up the stairs, cupped her neck, and pressed a tender kiss to her temple.

"Deal, Granger," he repeated, "I'm all in."

"You don't know what that means," she muttered sullenly, with an intake of breath overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne and _him_.

"Hey," he nudged, "didn't we just agree that you would trust me...a little?"

Pouting a little, Hermione sighed, " _Fine_."

Pressing a kiss dangerously close to her lips, her surprised intake of breath had her gripping his waist for support. "Malfoy," she hissed in warning.

"What? I'm comforting you," he defended, slowly unleashing that devastating smile of his. _Stop it!_

Using him to leverage some distance between them, Hermione squeezed his forearms that were still wound around her. "Go win your match."

Half teasing, half affectionate, he leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. "Anything you say, love."

* * *

 **A/n: So, guess what? Rachel is being absolutely awesome so this story might reach its conclusion by Saturday!**

 **Thank you so so much for the kind reviews, you guys are honestly too wonderful for words and I'm so luckily be to in such a supportive ship as Dramione.**

 **See you next chapter :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Thursdays

Chapter six

.

"Let me get this straight. You saw her aim it right at you," Hermione began slowly, a week later, "and you just - _just_ \- dodged it?"

"Yes."

"And yet, you're _still_ sitting in my hospital room because -?"

A medi-witch stood beside her, running test after test. Each one returned negative although the self-satisfied smirk on Draco's face would have proved it to Hermione anyway.

"I'm in shock. Apparently."

"Apparently," she repeated mockingly.

"Yes," he said, flapping his hands slightly. "Can't you see my blanket?" She could. The damned thing was navy blue and happened to enhance the stunningly grey tone of his mischievous eyes.

Hermione cursed to herself before releasing a loud sigh. "Thank you, Amy. I'll take care of this."

The medi-witch nodded and departed, leaving the two alone.

"So, tell me what happened again?"

"Granger," he moaned, "I'm in shock, have some pity."

"For someone in shock you look extremely satisfied," she retorted, disapprovingly.

"Seeing you has cured me. I'd call it a miracle."

She snorted. "You're so cheesy."

Honestly, if the wizarding world hosted The Oscars, he'd win Best Actor. Hands down.

"Still making your heart beat faster, though, aren't I?"

Damn that bloody calling card! She kept it with her all the time. Why didn't she burn it? His adorable, ridiculously pleased, face. That's why.

"Shut up." She really wasn't good for his ego, but that damned smile was proving to be her downfall. To be fair Luna had called it during their 'girls' night/house camp-in' and, despite Hermione's protests, she had all the evidence she needed in the gentle pulse coming from his signet ring as he reached up to cup her chin.

"Don't I get a reward for my persistence?"

"By distracting me and taking up important hospital space?" Hermione retorted, not responding to his touch but not moving away from it either.

"Come on, date number three!"

"We're in a hospital, Malfoy," she reminded him, narrowing her eyes and pulling away. "Please tell me you didn't persuade your incompetent medical team that you were in shock! All for date number three?

"It's Thursday, and you're on rotations," he reminded. "I was playing, you were working."

As the Quidditch season was in full swing, it was near impossible to schedule time together. They were reduced to meeting at the hospital on a weekly basis instead. Draco's owl, however, was developing muscles on his wings due to the flurry of letters he sent as often as he could. The aristocratic bird was also very partial to the delicious treats Hermione plied him with as he waited for her to pen a reply to his master.

"Narrating again, are we?" she posed, unable to stop the lilt of her lips as she distracted herself by signing off on his documentation.

"A Quidditch player, his healer, and date number three," he continued in an exaggerated tone. "Think of it as 'kissing it better', if you like."

"'Kissing it better' isn't medically proven to actually do so," she continued, trying desperately not to laugh.

"You're spitting in the face of my hard work here," Draco pouted.

And the Oscar goes to... "How so?"

"Well, I had to bribe Cho to tell me about Patient-Healer preference."

I'm going to kill her, Hermione thought with a scowl.

"If it bothers you, I won't use it after today," he added, his voice immediately dropping the teasing tone as his brows furrowed deeply.

Now I feel awful. And Cho lives to fight another day.

"It isn't that," she admitted, "maybe a little, but it's the general Quidditch match day situation that annoys me."

Indicating to Hermione that he was willing to listen, Draco patted the bed next to where he was sitting. She desperately needed to vent so she gratefully accepted his offer of a listening ear. Leaning against the bed instead, she turned to him.

"The hospital practically shuts down during, and after, a Quidditch match," she began, "and yeah, we may not have to deal with Death Eater attacks anymore but non-Quidditch patients aren't getting treated for hours."

"Can't St. Mungo's adjust their protocols?" Draco enquired, adding "dumb question" as soon as he heard Hermione's heavy sigh.

She suddenly found herself leaning against him with a strong arm around her waist. "You'll figure something out, Granger."

"I'm just an attending," she pointed out.

She could practically feel his brow arch, and his voice echoed his challenge. "Your place on the hierarchy has bothered you before?"

"I…I suppose I could write up suggestions, alternatives? Maybe propose an entirely new protocol?" Hermione thought aloud.

"Are you asking for permission?" he asked pointedly.

"Hm?" she murmured distractedly. "Oh, no, just thinking…"

She realised her lack of attention might appear rude. Encouragingly, he offered more support instead,"I can have a word with the British Quidditch Association about improving side-line support of medical staff. It's about time _someone_ did."

"Then why didn't you do it sooner?"

"What? And miss seeing you so often?"

She clapped her hand against his thigh, still covered by his grass-stained Quidditch uniform. "Malfoy!"

"I'll talk to them," he said, despite his tell-tale smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

One would think, having been blown about and battered by the opposition for almost three hours, the player sitting in front of Hermione would resemble a wild animal. But, no, not the catwalk-model Draco Malfoy.

His lips may have been chapped from the cold, but his eyes were bright and playful. The usually perfectly-styled hair was windswept and boyish as it hung over his eyes. Not to mention the damned uniform. Hermione had never seen the appeal of the uniform, it was certainly designed for its use, but there was just something about the way he wore the damned thing that just – ugh! Focus Granger, he's your patient!

Proposal letters needed to be drawn up and maybe there were previous protocols that were more efficient prior to the new management rules. Perhaps they could be tailored to suit the current problem –

"I should get on that," she thought aloud, stepping out of his one armed embrace. Draco groaned.

"I just gave you more work to do, didn't I?"

With new ideas churning about in her head, there was no space to ponder about how _cute_ he looked sitting there with a blue blanket hanging loosely over his broad shoulders and a pout tugging at his lips.

Chuckling, she nodded. "I appreciate you keeping me busy. If I had to do another concussion consult, I'd never get those brain cells back."

"Do I get a reward for -"

With a quick peck, Hermione beamed. "Thanks, Malfoy!"

"Hey!" he called out, hand on the offending cheek. "You're skimming me, Granger!"

Already out the door, she called back, "I'll thank you properly when I win!"

Still seated on the hospital bed, he shook his head with a slight smile. What on earth did he get himself into?

.

Two hours later, Hermione was pushing aside her dark curls as she re-tied her hair with a sigh. Absentmindedly, she ran her fingers through Crookshanks' fur and picked up her coffee mug only to find it empty. Annoyed, she glared at her familiar accusingly but the half-Kneazle only lifted a paw to lick clean.

Life just wasn't fair; the coffee machine was all the way over one side of the kitchen, her wand was on the table under the window. It was simply too much work to remove the pile of papers and files from her lap and get a refill. Coffee would have to wait. Sigh.

No, no time. Have to get this in by tomorrow morning, I need to –

The blast of green flames lit up her fireplace, disturbing her rapidly-turning mind. Her head shot up only to see Draco-bloody-Malfoy casually stepping into the room. He had changed into dark trousers with a pale blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked...relaxed. The task at hand was temporarily halted.

"Oh no, no, no," she found herself rambling. "What are you doing here?"

He raised a brow before producing a couple of paper bags from behind his back. Takeout! From Ristorante del Slydini? Merlin, I think I'm in love with him.

She shook that sudden thought away. "I'm fine; really you don't need to -"

"Shut up Granger," he interrupted, "you haven't eaten yet."

She glared. "How would you know?"

Behind him, in the glow of the green embers, Cho's face suddenly illuminated the dying embers, popped up to grin at her. "You're welcome, Hermione!"

About that painful demise –

When Hermione remained frowning, Draco appeased, "It's Italian."

Hermione's scowl remained so Draco attempted to appease her by waving the bags in front of her. "Italian," he coaxed, smiling that charming, seductive, inviting -

Beneath the pile of research material, she could feel her stomach murmuring treacherous things about creamy carbonara. Damn it.

She puffed out a breath, blowing loose strands out of her face. "You may enter."

With a self-satisfied smirk, he obliged.

He didn't require any further attention as he spelled the center table to accommodate their meal, only asking if she wanted anything in particular to drink.

Hermione proffered her empty mug.

As Draco made himself comfortable on the couch adjacent to her, Crookshanks tottered over and peered at him curiously. Deciding the new person smelt acceptable, he proceeded to stretch himself across Draco's lap.

"Well," Draco mused, drawing a vibrating purr from the half-kneazle with his tickles. "you're an ugly thing, aren't you?"

"Malfoy! My familiar is not ugly!" She cried.

Draco stared at her. "Do you _see_ him, Granger?"

"He's got a flat nose," she admitted, "but he's beautiful in his own ugly way."

"See, you just said he was ugly."

Hermione scowled. "That's not what I meant! I...ugh...my brain is fried!"

"I'd take credit, but I can hear your stomach from here," he informed with a smirk, "Carbonara?"

"You speak Famish," Hermione's poker-faced him.

"A good guess, although honestly?" Draco smirked. "I'd like to become fluent in Hermione."

He smiled warmly at her flushing cheeks. "What?"

She leaned back, sighing slightly. "You called me by my name. I'm so used to hearing you say 'Granger.' "

Had she ever used his name before? Sure, she referred to him sometimes by his full title but had she ever -?

Looking bemused, he pointed out, "Well you are Granger to –"

"Draco," she interrupted.

It was his turn to blink and, for a second, he seemed almost lost. "Pardon?"

Blushing, she shook her head. Yes. Weird. Definitely weird. "Nothing, I-I just wanted to see something."

"And that would be?" he asked, an edge of tension in his voice.

Hermione shook her head again. "Nothing. Like I said, I was just…wondering how your name would sound -"

His brows raised in surprise, so she continued, "I've never called you by your first name before, and this is the first time I've heard you say mine so…"

"Feels strange?"

"A bit," Hermione declared with a shrug. "I'll get used to it." Maybe it was the suggestion that there _would_ be time 'to get used to it' that eased him, or something else entirely, as the stiffness faded from visage.

"It would probably help if we called each other by them?" he suggested.

"It _would_ be better," she agreed, "I mean, considering we aren't exactly passing acquaintances."

"Oh," he echoed casually, "we aren't?"

"Unless you make it a habit to barge into people's homes, bringing food?" she asked, realizing how presumptuous she sounded. Barely a month ago, that was _exactly_ who they were to one another! "And I mean," she rambled to recover, "six years in school together -"

"Shut up Granger."

"Hey!"

He smirked. "I'm not here to distract you, I'm here to make sure you eat so you can tackle _that_ ," he nodded at the pile on her lap. "Although I would suggest you not eat over it."

Huffing, Hermione gestured for Draco to pass over her wand. She spelled her work towards her bureau, retaining its organised mess. Once her legs were free, she plopped down beside Draco on the couch and gratefully accepted the aromatic carbonara he handed her.

During the oddly comfortable silence, Crookshanks began maneuvering around Draco's knee. Getting bored, the familiar climbed up behind his head and draped himself across the nice-smelling wizard's neck. Draco tried to reposition himself.

"What is Merlin's name is this thing doing?"

"It's not a 'thing', Malfoy," Hermione reprimanded.

Draco began to grumble, "Get him to stop –"

"Can't," she stated with a smirk, "he likes you."

When they finished eating, Hermione spelled the plates and containers away. Sighing contentedly, she attempted to retrieve her work but Draco was faster he pulled her back onto the couch and spelled her work over to them. Smiling, he took a file for himself and opened it.

Over the next few hours, they shifted positions slightly; Hermione turned her back to the armrest, swinging her legs across Draco's lap. His furry scarf remained sprawled across his neck. Draco didn't move much, save for the hand he rested gently on Hermione's knee. Coffee was regularly refilled via casual wand waving.

After catching sight of the clock on the mantle, Hermione nudged Draco's thigh with her toe.

"Malfoy?"

Focused on the document he was perusing, Draco mumbled a distracted 'hmm?' and she smiled a little at that. "Malfoy, shouldn't you be going home? It's pretty late."

After rubbing his eyes, Draco watched Crookshanks leap down onto the floor. The familiar was very miffed that the nice-smelling wizard's arm movements had woken him up. "What time is it?"

"Two," Hermione answered.

"Already?" he asked, surprised.

"Mmm, you must be exhausted," she said, sitting up and taking the papers from him. "You really should go home and rest."

"I didn't realize the time," he yawned, reaching up to rub his eyes again. Hermione raised a hand to stop him, noticing how red they were becoming.

With her front facing his side, she leaned toward him soothing the tired lines of his face with her fingertips. "It's okay, but we should really go to bed, Draco."

He blinked again, still seemingly confused, making it particularly difficult for the smile at her lips to abate; the desire to kiss his sleep-soaked face couldn't be resisted either so she succumbed to the temptation.

She really did intend for the kiss to be brief - a peck - similar to the one he had received at the hospital earlier. Draco, however, chose that precise moment to come back to life and responded passionately to her advance.

Before she knew it, Hermione was straddling his lap with her hands tangled in his hair and her tongue caressing his mouth. Hardly an unwilling participant, Draco had one hand squeezing her thigh periodically whilst his other trailed fire up and down her spine.

It wasn't until the door opened, accompanied by the sound of Cho's exhausted sigh and the blinding flick of the ceiling light that they pulled apart.

Nose to nose with one another, the flat was silent.

Entranced by the mercurial quality of Draco's eyes so close to hers, the quiet puffs of his breath as each one swept across her lips, and the sure strength of his arms about her, Hermione felt like she could sink into him and not be seen again (and be quite happy with it too!).

Until the other witch snorted and turned for the door again, informing them, "I told you she's a whore for carbonara, you're welcome Malfoy!"

* * *

 **A/n: Just so everyone knows, I'll love you forever if you get me food. That's how my boyfriend has kept me for three years xD**

 **Hopefully, the last two updates will come in by Saturday, and until then, feel free to leave me a review below. Thanks for reading!**

 **Once again, huge thanks to Rachel who's the real MVP around here.**

 **Until next time!**


	7. Chapter 7

Thursdays

Chapter seven

.

The door shut again as a heartbeat of fear clenched Hermione's chest.

Scenarios rushed through her mind faster than Harry on a broom; the awkward descent from his lap, the clumsy peck on the cheek goodbye, the suffering of Draco's owl (now obese from a lack of exercise), the mortification of facing Cho, Thursdays at work...

Draco reclaimed her lips the moment the lock clicked shut. Problem solved so.

He soothed the tension lingering in her neck, and the juncture of her shoulder, with one hand whilst the other drew distracting patterns across her jean clad thigh; the moan he wretched from her as his knuckle brushed against her core ignited the entire room with passion, and she pulled herself away from him panting.

Her breathing remained uneven within her heaving chest and she guessed her face was probably redder than a tomato. If getting caught was embarrassing enough, then this was probably so much worse. She buried her face under his chin. "Draco, I -"

"Bed," he interjected, pressing a tender kiss against her hair. Hermione squealed as he stood up with her body still attached to him. Not wishing to land abruptly on the floor, she wrapped her legs around him, and he instantly supported her weight by cupping her arse.

"Draco -!"

"You said we need to go to bed."

"N-no!" she stuttered, clinging to him. "I meant, your own bed!"

"It's late," he complained, "and, like you said, I'm tired."

"Draco, what are you -"

Finding her room, he walked in and approached the bed. "Draco, we're not going to -"

"Of course not," he interrupted as he plopped her down inelegantly on the mattress. She stood back up, holding onto his shoulders with her head higher than his for once. "We're both tired, and besides," he added, with that delicious twinkle in his eyes, " _when_ we do that, I envisage us both having the following day off work. It makes sense, yeah?" He winked.

She flushed. "I…"

"I also got a kiss on the third date," he boasted. "I'm quite satisfied."

A certain protrusion brushing against her thigh said otherwise and, when she glanced down at him as covertly as possible, he chuckled. "I'll be fine."

"Draco...stay."

His lips curved. "Now, I _won't_ be fine if I do that."

"Can't behave?" she challenged, and his exhale sounded like a laugh.

"Not when you're around. You're far too tempting as is."

He pressed a chaste kiss on her lips. "Goodnight Granger."

"I'm lazy, Draco," she sighed dramatically.

She could see him trying to suppress a smile. "That's not how one says goodnight."

"Help me with this?" She gestured at the button of her jeans, and he glared.

"You're just being mean," he accused.

" _Please_." Pouting now, she begged playfully.

Sighing, he did what she asked and it became quite apparent that Draco Malfoy was very good at following instructions. He slowly fingered the button with his thumb, sliding it out of the material. The zip followed easily.

Still clinging to his shoulders, Hermione attempted to slowly shimmy out of her jeans. Patience, however, did not seem to suit Draco Malfoy and, with a groan, he whipped the jeans away from her long legs.

His hands weren't as calloused as she expected despite the sport he played, but they still had a roughened texture which when contrasted against her skin made her shiver, and the quiet growl he released didn't help to cease it.

She expected calloused hands to touch her and, although his skin was Quidditch-worn, his hands were gentle and caused goosebumps to appear. Her shivers quickened his breathing.

Sliding his hands back up from her calves, he rested them again on the cheeks of her arse. With his neck craned to touch his lips with hers, he warned, "Don't wear these next time."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll have to buy you new ones." Squeezing the handful he had, and closing his eyes at her sigh, he added, "I don't want anything in my way when…" his words trailed and his fingers followed; the thin material of her underwear was becoming an irritating obstruction, something she apparently expressed when he chuckled darkly.

None too breathlessly, she murmured, "Sweet dreams, Draco."

.

"Hoo-hoo, someone looks pleased," Cho teased the next day as the friends met in the hospital corridor.

Hermione suppressed a smile as she exited the board room. "Good afternoon to you too, Chang."

Wiggling her brows, the other witch enquired as they fell into step, "Did someone have a good night?"

"Good morning too."

"Lucky witch," her companion said with an envious scowl.

Hermione made a squawking sound then. "No, not in that way!"

"What, Draco couldn't close the deal? Didn't want to _Slytherin_ to your _Chamber of Secrets_?"

Hermione huffed through flushed cheeks. "You're terrible, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart."

"I'm single, horny, and living vicariously through you," Cho informed tartly, "Plus, I gave up my room for the night so you could get some action! What in the name of Circe's chastity belt is wrong with the two of you?"

"Nothing is wrong! I'm not ready to...you know."

"What?"

"You know...have _sex_ with him. It's too soon. We've only met three times, really. Last night was...it was lovely, and I did ask him to stay, _just_ stay, but he said no."

"He said no," Cho repeated incredulously.

"He said when he does stay the night, he'd rather neither of us had to leave for work the next day," Hermione explained, focusing on her destination in order to avoid her friend's prying eyes and smirk.

"Yeah, wouldn't want you walking side to side and have everyone know what you were up to, hmm?" Cho teased, and Hermione nudged her with her elbow.

"I repeat, you're terrible."

"You know it's true, props to his gentlemanly behavior. Where do I get one?"

"Quidditch changing room?"

"Pretty sure that's some kind of fantasy," Cho mused. "Wait, what do you mean Quidditch changing room?"

"Well," Hermione began, waving around the folder in her hand, "I just had a meeting with the hospital board and they've agreed to some of my suggestions for the Quidditch protocols."

"Isn't it a bit late for that?" February was fast approaching and, although the season wasn't due to end until March, the Quidditch finals were scheduled to take place on Valentine's Day.

"The timing couldn't be better actually. It gives the hospital time to review the existing protocols, come up with the necessary standards on the sideline, and train the medical staff at Quidditch matches. While they would only be able to test its effectiveness during team practices and friendly matches, it would give the medical staff time to adjust before the season starts up again," Hermione explained, giving Draco credit for that point.

"But why the Quidditch changing rooms?"

"Because I promised Draco I'd thank him when I won, and he should be finishing practice soon."

"Whoa, whoa – wait, so you're visiting the barracks to see your man?"

Hermione's lips twitched as her face reddened. It _was_ a good idea, right? She stopped in her tracks, asking her friend nervously, "Do you think I shouldn't?"

Cho stared at her blankly. "You're going to say no to the opportunity of seeing Draco Malfoy looking all masculine and delicious from practice and, possibly, half-naked?"

"I just -"

Interrupting her with an index finger to the face, the other witch declared, "You're going if I have to pull you by your hair. After that blanket episode, I'm your goddamn wing-woman and _you will_ return the favor."

.

After completing her rounds, Hermione found herself back in civvies and standing in front of a Quidditch stadium. Apparently, this was where Draco's team practiced.

"You really don't know what team he plays for, besides yours?"

Hermione scowled. "It never came up, okay? I may know how the game works, but the politics aren't as interesting." Yes, the two of them had conversed about an endless number of things but Quidditch had been the last thing Draco wanted to discuss. In fact, whenever Hermione broached the subject – his motivations for joining, where he saw himself going with it – he had just shrugged. And of all the things she had associated Draco Malfoy with, a man without a plan certainly wasn't one of them.

"That's it! We're getting you team merch, this is unacceptable." With a huff, Cho stalked towards the entrance where wizard security was set up to prevent the team's fans from interrupting their training.

"Sorry, Miss, you can't come through."

"Sure we can," Cho retorted, unimpressed, throwing a thumb over her shoulder. "She's Draco Malfoy's girlfriend."

"Actually," Hermione interjected, "we never really discussed what we are -"

Waving her off, Cho interrupted, "Hush Granger, I'm talking to the nice man."

The security guard intoned, "I'm sorry, Miss, you aren't on the list."

"Cho Chang? No, well that's fine, just her then," turning slightly to whisper to Hermione, her self-proclaimed wing-woman added, "Make sure to rate them for me when we recon."

Clearing his throat, the security guard said, "I'm sorry, but she's not on the list either."

"Hermione, Hermione Granger," Cho repeated, tapping at the clipboard the security guard held. "She has to be on there, she's his Sun and Stars!"

Oh god, she was reading A Song of Ice and Fire again, Hermione thought, face-palming.

"I'm _sorry_ , Miss," the security guard repeated, "she's not on the list."

"Did you hear what I said?" Cho demanded as Hermione rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. Maybe she should have arranged to meet up instead of trying to surprise him? Then again, how was she to know that he had so much security around him? Maybe she should have asked Ginny to come with?

"Michael," a voice called in the distance, the accent just a hint foreign. "Let 'em through, they're with me."

Looking back at the wizard, the security guard nodded. "Sure thing, Mr. Zabini, shall I put them on the list for next time?"

The dark-skinned Italian nodded, clasping the man on the back. "That'll do." Turning to the two witches, he smiled.

"Welcome to the Dragon's Den, ladies."

* * *

 **A/n: Gasp, its Saturday, and guess what story is finished? (Hint: read the next chapter ;))**

 **This chapter goes out to** sharpestsatire **for getting my Sherlock reference in the previous chapter. Do you know how long I was waiting for someone to notice that?!**

 **To Rachel, as always, you're a beaut!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Please note: this chapter is not edited.**

.

Thursdays

Chapter eight

.

The first impression Hermione had of the Quidditch pitch was like the first time she saw the ocean.

The stands surrounding it were raised higher in some places and dipping like waves in others. Branded on the empty seats, a silver dragon flew through the stands like a flash of lightening against the solid black of the chairs. From their vantage point, the luxury boxes were made to look like cages, dangling high with some close enough to be in the midst of the action.

"Never seen those before," she murmured.

Blaise Zabini smiled proudly. "This is the first stadium to do it. Others are following suit. It's an extra obstacle to the game and an added bonus to getting a luxury box."

The pitch itself was green as can be, the hoops gleaming bronze, silver and gold depending on the type of ball meant to go through it. Banners proclaiming home team pride flapped in the breeze, applauding as it flapped in the breeze.

Players flipped and turned on their brooms, spiraling and spinning in an almost uncontrolled ribbon of the air they were disturbing.

"This looks insane," Cho murmured, as she leaned arched her neck up to see it.

"Nothing like when you played it in school huh?" Zabini said, hint of a smile.

"I'll say," she muttered, "don't know how Ginny does it without losing her head."

"Oh, some do," he said with a shrug. "Fortunately all they need is a vertigo potion and they're usually good to go. Treating dizziness wouldn't be a big deal if they weren't constantly doing it."

"I suppose that's all they know how to treat, right?" Hermione asked.

"That, and nausea control. But I'm sure you aren't here to talk about that," he mused and then paused before asking, "Or are you? I honestly think you'll disappoint Draco if you are."

For a second, Hermione was speechless. "Uh, I…? I'm what? Does he know I'm here?"

"Oh no," he said amused, "but I'll be disappointed on his behalf, that's the kind of friend I am. Oh look, there he is." Nodding ahead, some distance away, the object of their conversation stood with his back to them in an exchange with what looked to be the coaching staff.

"He'll be done in a bit, I'm sure, would you like to go down there?"

She opened and closed her mouth, and Cho nudged her. "Go on, I want to go down there and he's not going to if you don't come along."

Zabini feigned offense. "Who said I wouldn't?"

"Hush Zabini, I'm talking to the nervous Healer."

"Will he mind?" Hermione asked then, and he looked at her in quiet amusement.

"I'm sure he won't, and I'm also sure he'll kill me if I chase you away."

.

Hermione had never walked through the tunnel before in her life, and now that she was, she could kind of understood why players always walked out looking fired up. She could practically hear the thumps of adrenaline ridden heartbeats vibrating through her.

By the time she stood at the entrance of the changing room, she could hear why: The captain of the Devonshire Dragons was giving them lip service, shouting to hype them up and it seemed to be working.

There was suddenly the physical pounding of helmets against the ceiling and the stomps of their dragon hide boots, Hermione almost thought that they would come charging out as they applauded thunderously. But they didn't, instead the noise tapered off as they broke into separate chattering conversations.

Knowing that it was fine for her to walk in what with Quidditch being a coed sport, Hermione steeled herself against the fear and stepped inside.

"Hermione, fancy seeing you here!" Cormac?

"Erm, hello." There was no missing him, strutting around in barely anything despite his hair being dry. If he was hoping to be leered it, it wasn't happening through Hermione or his fellow teammates.

As he was about to reach over and hug her, Zabini approached again, having been distracted on the walk to the changing rooms by the coach. Apparently he had an excellent record of good timing. "McLaggin, put some clothes on."

Bare chested and only wearing a towel, the dirty blond only smirked as he taunted, "Feeling inadequate?"

"You'll be if you keep at it," he said flatly, the first time Hermione had seen him as anything but polite since. Nodding his head towards a hallway that led further to the back of the changing room, Zabini indicated for her to go on.

Not wanting to talk to her one-time date, Hermione continued without complaint.

The rest of the team barely looked up from what they were previously doing, and when they noticed her, they only offered nods of recognition.

When she felt like she walked through the expanse of the changing rooms (which were shockingly huge) and still hadn't found Draco she almost gave up and turned back around when he stepped of the designated male showers, hair wet and just like Cormac, only a towel at his waist.

Though, saying he was "just like Cormac" was a huge oversimplification.

While both were (sometimes begrudgingly in Draco's case, and annoyingly in Cormac's) fit, there was just a certain way that they carried themselves that spelled out the distinction between the two men quite well:

Cormac tended to puff his chest out like a rooster, willing to croon at anything and anybody who looked his way while Draco, who Hermione was sure once did the same, had a quiet confidence about him – natural in his stance and the way he held his head and squared his shoulders. There was also just a hint more definition in the curves of Draco's build, not that was a _real_ reason to find him more attractive than her one time date.

He stopped dead at the sight of her. "Hey…"

"Hey yourself," she heard herself murmur.

With a confused sort of smile, his body tensing up, he said, "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

The fact that the latter had a chest covered in scars too, from the Sectumsempra spell Hermione remembered sullenly, and she still wanted to _lick him_ was definitely enough to put him on a different level to Cormac.

"This is the changing rooms and you have just gotten out of a shower so I -"

"I got that," he interjected with a chuckle, and she realized he was nervous for some reason as he walked to the wall and opened his locker, hiding himself partially from her as he dug around inside. "Is something wrong?" he asked in between almost hurriedly putting on his clothes.

"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "I just wanted to come by, you know, since I never do and you're always the one approaching me so I thought I'd change that."

He chuckled again, the noise somewhat strained. "Hell of a timing."

"In my defense I was willing to wait until _after_ , but Cho kind of insisted."

"Did she?" he asked, distracted.

"Yeah, she said she'd pull me by my hair if I turned down the opportunity to see you half-naked so," she trailed sheepishly, and when he didn't reply, Hermione blinked. "Is something wrong?" it was her turn ask.

"No…nothing, I just, you really shouldn't be in here, seeing me like this."

"Seeing you like what?"

Closing the locker just a smudge for her to see that he had put on his pants, but was still shirtless, Hermione still looked at him in askance. "I mean, you've seen me without pants on so I think shirtless is kind of a fair trade?" A _very_ fair trade.

"No, I mean…"

Oh…

Oh.

"The scars, you're worried about the scars?" He opened the locker again using it as a shield, she realized. "Draco…is this why you didn't want to -"

"It wasn't the main reason why, hell it wasn't even a reason until last night."

Now she was confused. "What happened last night?"

"You," he said quietly. "You were just…perfect."

She flushed. She looked far from it. Sleep deprived with a crazy look in her eye from her research-brain, clad in jeans a peasant top and her hair in a disarray. No, she was definitely far from it. "I wouldn't say that -"

"But you are, and I," he paused, "I look like this."

"Draco -"

"Usually," he interjected again, "I use a glamor to hide it since healing them is basically impossible. But…you really weren't supposed to be here."

She wasn't sure how she got to be standing behind him, but by the time she realized, she was touching his bicep and gently turning him to face her. Still though, his eyes avoided her. "I'm not scared of your scars. I don't even care that you have them." When he opened his mouth to disagree with her, Hermione brushed her fingertips against his lips. "You're vain, I get that, but I don't care what scars you carry. I want you." Stepping on her toes, she kissed him lightly which was an easy feat considering his head was bowed.

"Thank Merlin," he breathed.

"You doubted?" she asked, surprised, "I wouldn't have given you a chance if I didn't, Draco."

He sighed, and murmured, "Say my name again."

She smiled, kissing him chastely and quickly. "What for Malfoy?"

"Tease," he accused.

"Mmm, I do my best." Looping her arms around his neck, she peered up at him. "Oh, and by the way, I won."

His pale brows raised in surprise. "Did you? So soon?"

"I don't like to waste time, and I did say I'd reward you."

"You did," he echoed nonchalantly, or at least trying to as he gently swayed them until her back was lightly bumping the inside of his locker. "What do you have in mind?"

Pressing her lips against his again, fingertips grazing the bare skin of his shoulder and twining her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, she suggested, "Date number four?"


	9. Chapter 9

**A/n: So I screwed up and only now realized that the story was actually missing a chapter (which was the previous one to this) so if you're an "old" reader and are reading this chapter, the ending is the same, a scene was just missing from when Hermione and Cho go to the "Dragon's Den" which can be found in Chapter Eight**

 **And while I have your attention: I have a new story out! It's of the smutty variety. It is marked as complete (for now), but it will be continued in future so if you're interested, feel free to check my profile :)**

Thursdays

Chapter nine

.

Hermione woke up to find Draco lying on his stomach, his nose pressed into her shoulder and his arm thrown casually across her waist. She beamed, knowing she must have looked delirious but not caring a jot. She reached over to smooth his hair.

Long lashes cast shadows across his prominent cheekbones and his lips were pulled at the corners in a tell-tale smile. He was certainly less serious in sleep; practically angelic.

Lightly kissing his cheek which had just a hint of stubble, Hermione laughed quietly at the small groan he puffed out. Suddenly, he was awake. Very awake.

A head rush hit Hermione as she was flipped over to straddle him. Those mercury eyes, beneath long lashes, met hers as he slowly licked his lips.

One hand fiddled with his hair, almost sheepishly as if he wasn't prepared to look so undone, whilst the other treading lower in a barely there caress of his fingertips, creating a conflict of not even caring because _we're going to do it again anyway_. She shivered at that reminder, the harsh whisper he pressed against her ear when she tried to compose herself after the first round by locating where he had thrown her underwear.

She didn't need an O.W.L. in Divination to foretell the tender caress of his fingertips would lead to more –

Yeah, Hermione Granger may not kiss on the first date (lie) and, sure, she may not sleep with someone on the third, but the fourth date was completely fair game. She was a healer, not a nun.

"Sleep well?" she asked as a sleepy sort of smile spread across his face, along with another lick of that delicious lower lip.

"Mmm, you're up early."

Moving slightly backwards over his abdomen to nudge a certain appendage that was poking her from behind, she retorted, "Apparently I'm not the only one."

"You're naked and on top of me," he replied in kind, "forgive my dick for approving of the view."

"Mmm, I assume that means I should take it as a compliment?"

That hand of his, moving slowly from her sternum down to the apex of her legs, made Hermione bite her lip as he applied more pressure to his intended destination. That sultry voice murmured, "The best kind."

It didn't take much more for round eight(!) to happen, and the fact that neither of them made an attempt to get up carried the suggestion that round nine would probably –definitely – follow. Maybe after a nap, though, Hermione thought as she lay with her chest against his. Draco's hand caressed her bare back with long, lazy patterns.

"Have work today?" he asked, pressing a kiss against her shoulder.

"No, you?"

There was that smirk. "Good girl."

She snorted. "That was honestly a coincidence."

"All the better, even the Fates wanted us to get lucky."

Hermione thumped him playfully on the shoulder before running her palms over the plane of his chest. Placing one hand over the other, she propped her chin on top before looking up to observe him.

His head and neck were supported by a couple of pillows, defining the muscles in his chest, neck, and shoulders; his hair was still a mess and his lips plump and slightly red from their amorous activity. Draco returned her look with undisguised appreciation. "I'm not busy today."

"Mmm, that's good. You must still be tired from yesterday."

Draco raised a brow as if to say "and you aren't?" and she instantly reddened. "Not from this! I mean with the research you helped me with _and_ your Quidditch practice!"

"Well, _you_ were on rotations, researched, attended a board meeting, convinced them you were right, and then _this_ , so really, being not-tired is simply the only way to keep up with you," he teased.

"Does it bother you, though?"

"What?"

"That I'm doing all this when, a month from now, you'll be off season? I mean, my schedule isn't going to change much and now that they want me to oversee the protocols with the Quidditch medical staff…"

"Granger, I promise I won't annoy you when I'm bored."

"That's not what I mean."

He considered her, trying to decipher what she couldn't say without it sounding…arrogant and awful. Besides her last boyfriend cheating on her, the demise of her previous relationships weren't much better. Each one had a problem with her dedication to her work and the fact that, more often than not, she _was_ more successful than they were (not that she could help it, especially as she had no desire to 'stay at a level' so they would feel better about themselves). This was something Draco was starting to understand himself.

"Quidditch is simply a means to an end," he began, "I don't need the money I earn as a player, or from sponsors. If my mother had her way, I'd be at home managing the family estates and the charities we established after the war. It's really just a way to keep me from becoming a hermit. It doesn't matter that I won't be as busy with the season ends, Granger. I know you'll still be swamped with work, I get that. We'll make do with whatever time we get, alright?"

"What will you do, though?"

He shrugged. "What I always do. I come up with new formulas for the potions we use on the sidelines. Now that I've tested them for myself, I know what the problems are."

"You…you made the potions?"

"A few of them," he admitted, "the medical staff has always been incompetent. When I first started out, no one on the BQA wanted to listen to me about doing anything to improve it. Only recently they've allowed the use of my potions."

"But it's not like this was your first year on the pitch."

"Granger," he began tiredly, "I may have money and I may be a popular player, but I'm still that kid that became a Death Eater at seventeen. Why do you think I became a Quidditch player at all? It was the only job I could get."

She stared at him in shock, as if she was seeing someone else entirely. "The only job?"

"If I was happy to sit on my arse with my Gringotts account, it would be a different story, but I saw firsthand the destruction that came from the war and I wanted to do my part to rebuild it." And they wouldn't let him, Hermione thought soberly.

"So you used Quidditch to do that?"

"Built the stadium with Blaise and a few others from school that ended up on the same boat as me - Pucey, Nott, Greengrass. It was a way to resurrect our family's credibility; to start projects, and actually do something useful for society. As it is, even the charities we start have to be founded by proxy because the magical community won't touch us," he said.

"So, if they didn't stop you," she asked tentatively, "what would you be doing?"

He smiled warily. "Perhaps a job like yours; having to heal myself during the war and finding creative ways to cure 'punishments' was morbidly fascinating; better than being _his_ errand -"

"Hold on!" Hermione interrupted him, sitting up slightly. "You can _heal_ yourself?"

He nodded.

"Then why the hell do you keep going to St Mungo's?"

"Well the first time wasn't a choice," he replied sheepishly, "they didn't tell you I was knocked out cold before I got there. When I woke up I was surrounded by healers."

"Residents," she corrected quickly.

Remembering her intense dislike of them, he smirked. "After that, it was just an excuse to see you."

"Was that why you never came in with anything worse than a nose bleed?"

He shrugged. "I knew you would hate wasting magic on something as mundane as a broken hand -"

"Back up," she halted. " _You broke your hand_?"

"That's why you didn't hear from me the week after Christmas," he replied, wincing. "I couldn't exactly write since I had to grow it back, and it didn't help that my mother had already accepted an invitation on my behalf for Boxing Day."

"I…I didn't even notice you were favoring one hand when we were together," she said, baffled.

"I didn't want you to worry."

Hermione deadpanned, "You idiot."

There was a hint of a smile. "I can hear affection in that."

"Hmph."

"Oh love, don't be angry," he crooned, "I'll make it up to you."

"How?" she huffed, even as his fingers skated to her lower back.

"Have dinner with me."

"And you think food will fix this?" she retorted, although this was hardly a betrayal and food solved most everything in Hermione's book.

"It fixed Christmas."

" _True_."

"Let me make it up to you," he insisted, peppering her face with persistent kisses. She laughed out loud, squirming to escape his tickles.

Neither of them heard the bedroom door open.

"Darling, are you finally awa – oh!"

.

"I was wrong," Hermione muttered, "food won't fix this."

Draco reached over to squeeze her hand. "It'll be fine."

It would _not_ be fine. Hermione was sitting in yesterday's clothes, staring down at her ballet flats, about to have tea with the woman who walked in on them earlier.

If this bothered the Malfoy matriarch, however, she didn't show it and simply poured the tea.

Silence.

Hermione huffed to herself; this was _not_ how she envisaged her day off. Her plan involved shagging Draco Malfoy – a lot. She looked up to notice Narcissa Malfoy observing her. _It's not my fault your son's a great fucking shag, lady!_

"So, Miss Granger," she began, seemingly suppressing her smile, "how long have you been seeing my son?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "About…a month now?"

"Oh dear, that would explain why you were so broody a few weeks ago," Narcissa commented, turning to Draco.

"Mother -" he warned.

"I thought he needed company, Miss Granger, so I arranged a few dates for him. You must forgive me, I didn't know about you at all," and, at that, she shot her son an annoyed look. When Draco had no reply to this, his mother continued, "So you're serious then?"

"Mother, can you just _stop_?"

"Oh darling," she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "You've been pining over her since you were in school, forgive me for being curious."

Eh, what?

It was his turn to look embarrassed as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "I have not."

His mother gave him a look and, with frightening accuracy, mocked, "'You should see her hair, Father, it goes absolutely everywhere! And she thinks she's so bloody smart with her books and her perfect spellcasting! But she's terrible at Quidditch, Father, it's a disgrace!'"

"I was twelve," he defended, cheeks now tinged with colour.

"Well, I have no doubt that Draco was impressed with you even then," Narcissa interjected, having returned to her regal tones, "and respected you begrudgingly at that, even with your blood status. I must say, I'm very interested to know what he did to get your attention."

Trying to suppress her smile now, Hermione replied, "He ended up in St Mungo's."

"Nosebleed?"

"Oh yes, it was gushing," she nodded solemnly to Narcissa's chuckle and Draco's face palm.

Okay, maybe this wasn't so bad.

"So, are you official then?"

Scrap that. "Erm," Hermione mumbled, "we haven't exactly talked about what we're going to call…this."

" _This?"_

Draco replied, "Boyfriend and girlfriend seems a little…"

"Immature?" Narcissa suggested.

"Strangely enough, yes," Hermione answered.

Making a 'hmm' sound, the older witch stirred her tea. "I suppose it's a good thing then that Malfoys don't 'date'." When she remained confused, Narcissa continued, "Tell me Miss Granger, has my son given it to you yet?"

You know the answer to _that one_ , Hermione thought with a flush. Thankfully, Draco chose to answer instead, "I did, though I disabled the portkey aspect of it for the time being." Were they talking about the calling card?

Scrutinizing her, Narcissa murmured, "Hmm…I see. Well, at least this will give us time to get to know each other, Miss Granger."

"Uhm, likewise…but get to know each other for what, though?" Hermione asked in confusion.

Mother and son exchanged a look and, despite the warning in Draco's eyes, his mother elaborated, "As I said, Malfoys don't date. They court with the intention of marriage."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth.

"Disabling the portkey is my son's way of giving you an 'out', as they say. Once activated, it is an acceptance of his offer to you."

"To…marry me?"

"I am," Narcissa admitted slowly, "unfamiliar with muggle courtships, Miss Granger; forgive me if it is a shock."

"It's…not actually," Hermione acknowledged, "most relationships end in separation or marriage. I've...I..."

How could she answer?

"Why are you so surprised, dear?"

Looking from Narcissa to Draco, who seemed equally curious, she continued, "A month ago, Draco was Malfoy. He was just someone I went to school with – someone who bullied me and my friends – a boy I fought a war against – a man I occasionally heard about through his prowess on the Quidditch pitch – I didn't…I didn't expect this."

"No, I don't suppose you did but life works in rather mysterious ways," Narcissa echoed in agreement.

"I'll say…"

"Mother," Draco cleared his throat, "if you don't mind, I think we should go."

Narcissa noticing Hermione's discomfort, subsequently inclined her head. "Of course, darling, I had no intention of keeping you. It was nice to meet you under proper circumstances, Miss Granger until we meet again."

.

"That was…"

"I really didn't mean for that to happen," Draco was quick to reassure her as they entered Diagon Alley.

"I sincerely hope not," Hermione replied. "Having your mother see my bare arse is _not_ on my bucket list." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as she probed, "Why didn't you tell me that this is what it means?" She held up the card. It had become a necessary addition since the day she received it, like the keys to her flat, her grandmother's wedding band, and her wand.

"I didn't want to scare you away."

"Draco," she began, in that explaining-something-simple-to-Harry-and-Ron tone, "I'm a Gryffindor, I do brave every day and twice on Sundays."

He paused. "So…you're fine with this?"

"I'm not so fine that you gave me something equivalent to an engagement ring without telling me." She frowned slightly. "But as to the idea of it, I'm fine with it."

"Just fine?" Draco asked, brow knitted in thought.

A smile threatened to ruin her serious expression but he saw it nonetheless and smiled back. Of course, it didn't last long. "So, what does this mean then, for us?"

"You and your labels," she teased.

"Are we dating then? Exclusively?"

Hermione replied with a dramatic sigh. "I don't make it a habit of just sleeping with anyone. Technically, though, we can't be dating because Malfoys 'don't date'."

"Then what are we?"

"You really want to know?"

"Don't torture me."

She chuckled, and standing on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his lips. "You are Draco Malfoy, and I'm Hermine Granger. For now, anyway."

The suggestion was enough to make him smile again, albeit temporarily. Honestly, why was she even bothering with this ridiculous man? "So you'd say yes."

"To marrying you?"

He nodded expression serious.

"That's what I mean about being Hermione Granger 'for now', Draco," she explained, with more patience than she actually had. "Besides, I'm quite sure that I'm in love with you."

Instead of that devastating smile she expected, Draco looked smug instead. "I was that good, wasn't I?"

She shoved him with a snort. "Idiot."

"I'm quite sure I'm in love with you too, Hermione."

She turned so she was walking backwards. "According to your mother, you've been in love with me for _ages_ ," she teased.

"I was pining," he defended flatly, "that's different."

"Ooh, okay, I see," she trailed unconvincingly and then shaking her head in disbelief. "To think, I would never have known this if you weren't taken to St Mungo's for a _Quidditch injury_ _you could have healed yourself_."

"To be fair," he said, "meeting you again covered in blood was not my first choice."

"Oh? And how would we have met again Malfoy?"

"We wouldn't," he said and she stopped walking, unable to hide the flash of hurt. "I would have gone to Avignon, as I had planned after the war, for healer training. We wouldn't have had to meet again because I would have been going with you – as a former classmate, a friend, as me? It wouldn't have mattered, I wouldn't have left your life in the first place."

"But...?"

It was his turn to shake his head. "I didn't think I did anything to deserve the shot at all."

"And if…you had?" Since she stood still, he came up to her and brushed a thumb across her cheek.

"If I had? By now?" Draco paused, and thought aloud, "We'd be arguing over rotations, we'd be fighting over clinical trials, we'd be complaining about the cardboard they serve at the canteen, and about who keeps hogging the on-call bed."

"And that's…that's it?"

He raised his brows. "Oh, were you waiting for the sex?"

She aimed to punch his chest, but he caught her hand, the pulse at his signet ring gentle but strong against the heart of her palm. He smiled that elusive smile of his. "We'd complain about Thursdays because that's when the Quidditch players come in with their ridiculous injuries, we'd be strategic and organize our schedules so we were never in that day, and we'd be in bed instead – research material and clothes everywhere."

"You'd deface our research for sex?" she challenged.

"What are you talking about? Such a dirty mind Granger," he said tapping her nose, "there's clothes everywhere because neither of us like laundry, which is just as well considering _we're going to do it again anyway._ There's the sex, you can clap now."

"You're terrible," she laughed.

"That's just your way of saying you love me too," he said, looking pleased with himself enough to let her walk away again, far enough that she had to shout, "Don't talk about Quidditch players like that, though."

"And why not?" he taunted, "Are you going to cheat on imaginary Healer Malfoy with a Quidditch player?"

"I would, but only because _my_ Malfoy is a Quidditch player."

"So you'd cheat on me, with me?"

She shrugged, nonchalantly. "What can I say? I'd choose you in any lifetime, no matter the career."

"Minister of Magic," he proposed.

"You'd be First Lord," she corrected, and he snickered, of course, she'd be the Minister and he, her right hand. "Of course," he echoed.

"But I must say, I'm quite partial to you being a Quidditch player," Hermione said, casually.

"Why's that?"

"I just always found you attractive in your uniform, and I have it on good authority that you have a bit of a fantasy about us and that locker room."

He raised his brows. "Whose authority is this?"

She shrugged again. "The same one that had us almost shagging in it yesterday?" She smirked at the quick swipe of tongue across his lips. "Don't worry; I'm supposed to know these things."

"Oh, because Hermione Granger knows everything?" he teased and, at that, she whipped out the calling card, his family crest facing him, as she tapped it against her lips.

"Just getting to know how to speak Draco."

He neared her, but still, she smiled behind the card.

"That's important," he enquired innocently, although it didn't change that familiar light in his dark eyes, "is it?"

"Mmm," she hummed, a virtuous smile in place, "I am marrying him someday after all."

"And when would that be?"

She shrugged, and proposed humorously, "Thursday?"

"Done."

* * *

 **A/n: *Bows* You guys have been absolutely fantastic! Thank you so much for reading, I'm so terribly grateful for the lot of you for sticking with this short, fluffy mess that was this story.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to** delightfullyscreechingtyrant **for the wonderful long reviews. Reviews are love!**

 **Huge thanks to Rachel, of course, for making my nonsense easier to digest, and to all the reviewers, followers and readers who placed this story on their favorites, you guys are golden!**

 **I'll be posting a random little one-shot within the next week (maybe) as well as a Valentine's fic of the** _ **steamer**_ **variety so look out for that if you liked what you've seen thus far. Thank you again for reading!**


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